The second time you fall in love with someone, you’re going to feel so relieved. When you get your heart broken for the first time, you can’t imagine loving someone else again or having someone else love you. You worry about your ex finding love before you do, you worry about being damaged goods. And then it happens. Someone else loves you and you can sleep well at night.
The second time you fall in love with someone, it’s going to feel different. The first time felt like a dream almost. You were untouched, untainted by anyone. You accepted love with wide open arms and desperation. “Love me, love me, love me!” So you did. And then it fell apart and left you shocked to the core. You realized that people could be cruel and break your heart. You realized that people could stop meaning the sweet things they said to you just yesterday. So when you go into it again, you’re going to keep in mind everything that you’ve learned. You’re going to say, “Love me, love me, love me…until you don’t. In which case, I would like some advance warning. Thanks!”
The second time you fall in love with someone, you’re going to compare it to your first love. That’s okay. That’s natural. You’re going to be studying the new love with judgement and wariness. “My ex never liked broccoli. Why the hell does this one eat so much broccoli?!” Discovering that you have the ability to love multiple people who are different and feel different is initially very jarring. Loving an unfamiliar body will leave you disoriented and in dire need of a map. That’s okay too. That’s to be expected. Just ask the new love for directions.
The second time you fall in love with someone, you’re going to suffer from a bout of amnesia. You’re going to poke and prod at your lover’s body and be like, “Wait, how do I do this again? How do I love you? I think it starts with us having a moment together in some coffee shop, right?” It’s going to feel scary at first. Falling in love is sort of like riding a bike though. You never really forget.
The second time you fall in love with someone, you’ll be a more sane person. Your first love is when you get all of your insanity out. You behave like an insane monster because your mind is freaking out about all these new powerful feelings. By the second time, however, you have an idea of what works and what doesn’t. It’s by no means perfect. The insanity will make a cameo at some point. “Peek a boo. I’m here! Hope you didn’t forget about me!” But you can usually shoo it away after awhile.
The second time you fall in love with someone, you will hopefully have better sex. Do not quote me on this.
The second time you fall in love with someone will still be exciting and you might even talk about moving in together or marriage. It will feel more “adult.” You have no idea what adult love actually is but you think it involves making coffee for each other in the morning and maybe even getting a dog. “This is my dog, Xan. I got him with the second person I fell in love with because that’s what you do! The first person I was in love with would’ve killed a dog.”
The second time will not be the first time. The first time is an insane magical life gift that you can never reclaim. But that’s okay. The second time is more real anyway. The second time can involve some amazing love.
Wanna know something? I am SICK and TIRED of hearing everyone of Tumblr, or my friends, anyone really, saying how much they wish to be skinny, and how they’re jealous of me because I’m skinny. Skinny isn’t everything. It isn’t even anything really. Yeah, I’m 5’4 and 105. And your point is? If my friends aren’t saying I’m too skinny, they’re making really rude comments about it.
I’m tired of hearing I can be broken in half.
I’m tired of hearing I’m “too thin”
I’m tired of people commenting that I have small boobs, and no ass.
Because you know what. WHAT I LOOK LIKE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH WHO I AM AS A PERSON. I know, I’m not that attractive. And you can see my hip bones, but fuck all of it it doesn’t matter. I just wish people could just be blind to me. Actually listen to me when I talk. I’m actually pretty damn smart. And I’m funny, in ways other then fucking insulting me, har har funny Taylor has no boobs. I try so hard to be proud of myself, all of me. But I can’t when people, even people I call friends, give me so much shit for how I look. You don’t see me turning around calling them fatties. Why? BECAUSE THAT’S RUDE! TALKING ABOUT WEIGHT IS RUDE.
So. I would like it if people would quit talking about weight, and looks, because we all die in the end, and we turn to dust. All we leave are our memories. Our bodies don’t mean shit. So actually listen to me when I talk next time. I’m not just a skinny chick. I would like for people to realize that I’m more then my looks. That’s all I really want.
You know what. Fuck everything. I am beautiful. In my own way I am fucking beautiful. And I proud of being different. I’m proud of who the fuck I am.
How do you explain
to your children that the
horrors of the world are real?
How will I tell my son, We
found a place you can call home but
your bus might not make it to school.
Do not look too Jewish in this part of town
Do not play in the train station
Do not get used
to the weight
of a machine gun.
Or look my
daughter in the eye and say, someday
you might say “no” and someone stronger than you might
You will not tell me
Know that this happens a lot
Know that your wrists pinned against a
echo in the way you move your hands
for as long as you let it
human hands aren’t as heavy as metal shackles
And I’m so sorry
but I won’t be able to
take the weight for you
You’ll wake up in the morning
That I can promise you
You’ll wake up
and your lungs will fill with air
whether you tell them to or not.
I will hold someone
small, with my face
and they’ll cry and I’ll say,
I know you’re tied with little yarn strings to the last life
I know it hurts to be here and
you’re never going back
the older you get the less you’ll remember
what it was like
before you had a body
when you were made of ash and infinite light
You’ll convince yourself you live here and
that your hands are you,
But remember that once you were boundless
Inside my body, without yours.” —Children- Lizzi Jones
I’ve always been self sufficient. Why? Because that’s how I was raised. I either did it myself, or it was never done. If it was too heavy, I had to become stronger for it. Too deep, I had to get taller before going through. Nobody held open doors for me, or helped me pick up my stuff. I became the master of balancing a shit ton of things on one arm so I can get out of the door. It’s just me.
But I’ve realized something, there are people there who actually want to help me. Be it to carry things, open doors, move big objects, get though the deep end, or to make me feel better. And I’m not used to that. But I’m trying, I really am. It’ll just take time before I fully let myself go. To feel helpless for once. Because I power through everything physical and emotional, by myself, and at the end of the day? I feel alone, and powerless, and exhausted, and just plain sad.
Today is one of those days. I just want to curl into my cute boy and fall asleep. I’m so sore, and just drained. It’s killer on my mood.
“I just want You to lift me up when I am down. Let me see You in everything, even if my eyes are closed to Your glory. Walk with me, carry me, live within me. Be my everything when there is nothing. Through You, I live. I see. I become Your image, worker, and storyteller.”